


These Nightmares Always Hang on Past the Dream

by Roswyn



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1940s, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Slavery, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26225434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roswyn/pseuds/Roswyn
Summary: Steve Rogers hates to admit it, but he needs help. And as much as he hates the slave trade, the only help he can afford at the moment is a very damaged--and very dangerous--slave.(Skinny Steve Rogers buys a metal-armed Bucky Barnes as a slave. The usual hurt/comfort ensues.)***Will update slowly***
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 53
Kudos: 250





	1. Chapter 1

Steve cracked his knuckles. His stomach was rejecting his lunch of coffee and more coffee, and his slim fingers were shaking. _This is such a bad idea…_

He’d just gotten off work, and although he’d never admit it, he was dead tired and ready to collapse. But one of his co-workers, Bill, had recommended this place, and it was just a few blocks from the dock where they worked. Bill had said it was cheap.

It certainly looked cheap. The place was falling apart—even more ramshackle and rundown than the other buildings it was leaned against. The area down by the docks was never _nice,_ but this part was…well, Steve generally avoided it. He pulled his overcoat tighter around him to shield himself from the chill breeze coming in off the ocean.

He grabbed the door handle, gripped it tightly. The movement sent a sharp stab of pain to his ribs. Steve looked down at the heavy bruises wrapped around his wrist, and tugged his sleeve down further. This wasn’t a good idea, not by a long shot, but he sure as hell didn’t have any better ones. He pulled the door open and stepped inside.

“Hey there,” a large man in overalls greeted him with a jovial smile, like they were meeting at a party rather than standing in a dark, smelly warehouse. He rose from his desk and stuck out a hand. “Lawrence Parsons, I’m the manager.”

“Name’s Rogers,” Steve said shortly, shaking the hand firmly but briefly. He resisted the urge to wipe his hand on his pants and stuck it in his pocket instead. “I’ve, um, I’ve got a low price range, but I was told this place—“

“Anyone’s welcome. First time buyer, huh?”

“That obvious?” Steve tried to smile but he was pretty sure it didn’t reach his eyes. It was still freezing inside the warehouse. Steve peered into the dim recesses of the building, trying to make out details. Were those…cages? Surely not…

“Well, follow me, I’ll show you around,” Lawrence was saying. “Any preferences? Height, weight, sex…?”

“I…I need a guy. A big guy.”

Lawrence turned around and eyed him quizzically. “Need him for what?”

“I assume that’s my business.” Steve didn’t mean to be rude, but….he really didn’t like the look in the guy’s eyes. He didn’t even know what Lawrence was insinuating, but he knew he didn’t appreciate being judged. “I’m a paying customer,” he added, trying to ease the situation with a small shrug. His ribs ached with pain again, and he clenched his bruised jaw, fisted his knuckles in his coat pocket.

“Of course, sir.” Lawrence offered him a greasy, amicable smile. “Right this way.”

They _were_ cages. Cages for _people._ Steve had been aware that the slave trade existed, that it was even legal now, ever since the government had tried to use it to stimulate the economy during the depths of the crash. But he’d always been too poor to come into contact with it. And never, in his wildest dreams, would he have imagined _this._

“How about this one?” Lawrence was asking. Steve stopped next to him in front of one of the cages on the left. There was a man crumpled on the floor of it, hunched over—it was the size of a goddamned dog crate. Steve felt his stomach turn over again, and he rubbed a hand over his mouth, breathing carefully. Throwing up wouldn’t make this any easier.

“Well, he’s bigger than me, I guess,” Steve muttered. _But then again, everyone’s bigger than me._ Steve took a deep, steadying breath, almost choking on the nasty stench. This was disgusting, this whole place was disgusting, why had he ever considered getting involved in something like this…

Steve looked down at his hands, at the unbroken skin on his knuckles, at the purple bruises spilling down his wrist. _Because I was running out of options._

He winced, and looked back up at Lawrence. “Do you have anybody bigger? What’s the biggest guy you have?”

Lawrence raised an eyebrow, shifted on his feet. “Well, we got a real hefty fella in here a day or two ago, but…”

“Show me.”

Lawrence rubbed his stubbled jaw, eyes tired. “Look, kid—“

“I’m not a kid.” Steve was a grown man, dammit.

Lawrence paused, looking Steve’s skinny frame up and down where he stood, face a mess of bruises and his shoulders shivering in an oversized, threadbare coat. “Sure. I know. Just trying to warn ya…this one’s a handful. Don’t want you to get hurt, is all.”

“I’m tougher than I look,” Steve grit out. “Let me see him.”

Lawrence led him back to the dark corner of the warehouse where a cage sat, a little bigger than the others and covered in a dirty blanket. He reached forward slowly and then yanked the blanket off onto the floor, stepping back as he did so.

“There he is. Wouldn’t get too close, if I were you.”

Steve stared.

Well, he was definitely big. The cage might have been a little larger than the rest, but this guy made it look tiny. He was on his knees on the floor, his hands cuffed to the back of the crate behind him, and Steve couldn’t see how he would be dangerous. He stepped closer.

The man’s head was lowered, dark hair hanging in flat curtains around his face, but now Steve noticed a tension in his shoulders, a slight hint of how lethal this man could be. He also saw that the slave’s back had been beaten bloody. He grimaced in sympathy at the deep marks.

Leaning forward, Steve realized with a start that the slave’s left arm was made of metal.

“What happened with his arm?” Steve asked, for lack of anything better to say.

Lawrence had a greedy smile in his voice. “Isn’t it gorgeous? Probably worth more than he is. It looks like something Stark Industries would come up with.”

“So you don’t know where it came from?”

“Don’t know a damn thing about him. Got him for twenty bucks off of some Russian guy. All I do know is, he put two of my guys in the hospital. Bit the finger off another. And that was with both of his hands behind his back.”

Steve shivered. Well, shit. But that was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He _wanted_ dangerous, that was the whole point. But could he deal with a man like this? Part of him knew the answer was no, but still he stepped a little closer to the cage, considering.

Lawrence put a hand on his shoulder, and Steve pulled away and turned around.

“Look, kid—Rogers, look…you’re not thinking this through. This guy’s gonna murder you the second you get him home. He’s a wild animal.”

“You think I can’t handle it?” Steve shouldn’t be taking this as a challenge, but…well, Steve took everything as a challenge. He couldn’t help it.

“I’m not saying that, just…you’re a first time owner, and he’s certainly a special case…he needs someone firm, who’s ready to break him if he tries anything.”

“And you think I’m too weak for it,” Steve said.

Lawrence huffed. “Trying to make this mess useful—it would be a hell of a job, a lot of training. A lot of your valuable time. I mean, honestly, I might just have to put him down.”

“You’re going to kill him?”

Lawrence shrugged. “Like I said, arm’s probably worth more than he is. But good luck getting it off him while he’s alive.”

Steve winced, staring down at the slave. _Put him down….like a dog…_ Steve didn’t want the man in front of him to die.

“I’m just trying to make sure you’re happy with your purchase,” Lawrence said, raising his hands. “I have plenty of other merchandise you can look over, we have some bigger guys who are real well-behaved—“

“Can you give me a second to think?” Steve interrupted, still staring down at the slave.

“Got your heart set, huh?” Lawrence breathed a long sigh. “Alright,” he said finally. “I’ll be in the back. Holler when you’re ready.”

Steve rested a hand on top of the cage and crouched down, resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose at the stench. The whole place reeked, but the slave smelled worse.

“Hey there,” Steve muttered.

The slave didn’t react. Steve thought he saw the muscles in his shoulders tense further, but that was it.

“Hey, look at me.”

At first, he thought the slave was going to keep ignoring him, but then slowly, slowly, he lifted his face. His hair fell out of his eyes, and Steve was met with an icy stare. His face was as filthy as the rest of him, bruised and smeared with dirt and blood. Those eyes were glaring straight through Steve—beautiful, grey, and absolutely murderous.

“Are you going to hurt me?”

The slave just glared.

“Look, I…I got myself into kind of a situation, and as much as it pains me to admit it, I need help. You’re the only help I can afford or else I wouldn’t be here.”

The slave tilted his head, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He looked wary, but at least he was listening.

“So, your life probably hasn’t been swell so far…but if I…Jesus, if I _bought_ you,” Steve winced a little at the word, “And you came home with me, I swear,” Steve put his hand over his heart, “I’d never hurt you. Ever. So…would you promise not to hurt me?”

The slave just kept staring for a long, quiet moment. Then he lunged at Steve with a movement that made the whole cage rattle, his metal arm clicking and whirring.

Steve fell backwards onto the floor, breathing harsh and fast.

The slave hadn’t managed to break out of the handcuffs that kept his arms twisted behind him, but he gave them a few more sharp yanks for good measure, growling low in his throat like a mad dog.

Steve cringed backwards. “Hey, stop, you’re going to hurt your wrists.”

The slave stilled. He cocked his head at Steve again, eyes appraising. Steve took that as encouragement and crept back towards the cage, although he didn’t put his hand on it again.

“Why don’t we—let’s start over. I’m Steve. What’s your name?”

The slave stared at him, wet his lips. They parted, and for a moment Steve thought the man was going to speak. Then he dropped his head again.

“Can you…” Steve spoke a little softer. “Can you talk?”

The slave shook his head, still staring at the floor.

Oh. “That’s okay. I’ll just ask yes or no questions.” He scooted a little closer, put his hand tentatively on the bars of the cage. “Do you want to die?”

The slave looked up at Steve, his eyes glazed over and miserable. He shrugged.

“What if I promised that your life with me wouldn’t be a fate worse than death?”

The slave sunk his teeth into his bottom lip, eyes still shrewd and appraising.

Steve sighed, kneeling down on the dirty floor. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

The slave just narrowed his eyes, looking Steve up and down.

“Even if you’re not sure about me…it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? I mean, if that Lawrence guy’s going to ‘put you down’ otherwise.”

A dark look crossed the slave’s face at the mention of Lawrence’s name. He hung his head again, his eyes far away.

Steve wrapped his arms around himself, unsure how to continue. The man in front of him seemed resigned to death, and after the life he’d probably led, Steve couldn’t exactly blame him. He stared around the dark warehouse, at the shadows of defeated people hunched in cages.

“Look at this place,” Steve said finally. “You don’t want to die in here. Don’t you want to see the sunshine again? At least just once?”

The slave looked up at him, his brilliant grey eyes creased in thought. He nodded, slowly.

Steve leaned forward, placing a tentative hand on the bars once again. “Like I said before, I need help. If you wanted, we could help each other.”

The slave wet his lips again, his eyes still wary. After a long moment, he nodded.

Steve sat back on his heels. “So I’ll ask you again then, if I don’t hurt you, will you promise not to hurt me?”

The slave stared at him for a long, long time. Steve’s fingers were freezing on the bars, his legs were screaming at him with exhaustion, but he made himself stay still. Finally, the slave nodded.

Steve rose shakily, holding his ribs. “Lawrence,” he shouted, his eyes still fixed on the slave. “I’ve made a decision.”

He heard Lawrence walking up behind him. The slave lowered his eyes again.

“I’ll take him.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love on this fic!! I really appreciate it, and it's inspired me to finally try and write this (it's been a vague idea in the back of my mind for a while now, lol). Seriously, thank you!

Bucky stared at the dirty, bloodstained floor of the warehouse, cursing himself. Death had sounded so comfortable--so peaceful and quiet, a blissful freedom from pain, from the constant violence. He’d almost fully resigned himself to it. 

It would be the smart choice, for Lawrence. Sell Bucky’s tired body to be made into dog food, and sell off the tech in his arm. Fighting was the one thing Bucky was good for, and now that he’d refused to do it, he knew he was worth more dead than alive. 

But then this Steve guy had to come along, offering him a second chance at life, awakening some kind of emotion in Bucky’s numb, tired heart. It was an uncomfortable feeling, a sort of burn in his chest. Maybe it was a will to live. Or maybe it was vain, foolish hope. 

But the truth was, Bucky _did_ want to see the sun again. He didn’t want to die in here, in a cage. Even though that was probably what he had coming. A fitting end to a violent life. 

Bucky glanced up at Steve as the man haggled with Lawrence, taking in Steve’s skinny frame and floppy blond hair. 

Steve had said he needed help—help with what, Bucky wasn’t sure, but from the bruises on his face, Bucky gathered he’d run afoul of somebody with a mean right hook. More fighting, then. At least it would have some purpose, Bucky supposed. At least it would be an escape from the life he’d always lived, from senseless violence for the entertainment of the bloodthirsty. And Bucky couldn’t help but wish for that, for something different than what he’d always known. He just wasn’t sure he deserved it. 

Apparently the two men had agreed on a price, because Lawrence was pocketing a small wad of bills. He turned and approached Bucky warily, a set of keys dangling from his fingers and that damn cattle prod in his other hand. He stepped behind Bucky and inserted the key into the lock of the handcuffs, freeing Bucky’s wrists. Bucky slowly eased his arms in front of himself, wincing internally at the ache in his muscles and the sting spreading across his torn back.

Lawrence crouched down in front of the cage, keys in hand, cattle prod raised defensively in the other. He hesitated. “If I let you out of here, are you going to behave yourself?” 

Bucky growled in response, lunging forward. 

Lawrence jumped back, and Bucky smirked to himself. The guy was easy to scare. But he had it coming, after he’d applied the business end of that cattle prod to Bucky one too many times through the bars of the cage. 

Lawrence glared down at him. “Piece of shit,” he muttered. He leaned forward to shock Bucky, but Steve grabbed his arm. 

“Hey, stop.” Steve released Lawrence and folded his arms. “No wonder he growls at you, if you treat him like that.” 

Lawrence huffed. “What am I supposed to do, damn thing’s a wild animal—“ 

“Just...let me handle it,” Steve said, sounding like he was forcing some bravado into his voice. He held out his hand for the keys. 

Lawrence sighed as he handed the keys over. “Are you sure you know what you’re getting yourself into?” 

Steve just shrugged and crouched down, inserting the key into the lock. Then he stopped. “You’re _not_ going to hurt me, right?” he asked, addressing Bucky. 

Bucky gave him a nod. Lawrence was right, Bucky _was_ a wild animal, but he was going to do his best to be a tame one, at least for now. He’d promised Steve that much. And there was something _about_ Steve, something that made Bucky want to give him a chance. Maybe it was those eyes, so big and blue, maybe it was the soft, sincere way he spoke—or maybe it was Bucky’s own stupidity, pathetically believing that people could be good. But people always hurt him, he reminded himself. And surely Steve would show his true colors soon enough. 

Steve turned the key and slowly opened the door of the cage. Bucky crawled forward gingerly and then slowly stood to his full height, towering over Steve. 

Steve looked up at him, and their eyes met. Steve’s eyes were wide, and so incredibly blue. Bucky shook himself, and stared at the floor instead, down at his bare feet sticking out below the bottom of his ragged pants. 

“C’mon?” Steve said, making the command a question. He turned to walk out, and Bucky obediently followed, only too glad to leave this wretched place behind him. 

They stepped outside, into the crisp fall evening. There was a chill breeze coming in off the sea, and Bucky stifled a shiver, folding his arms over his bare chest.

Steve looked out at the gathering clouds blocking out the setting sun. “No sunshine, sorry.” He glanced at Bucky. “There will be, though.” 

Bucky stared out at the light emerging from behind the dark grey clouds. It was close enough. Better than being inside the warehouse, at least. It felt so good to be out of that cage, to have his arms free--he stretched them above his head, and then immediately regretted it when burning pain raced across his back, and lowered his arms to his sides. 

Steve began to walk down the street, and Bucky followed, trailing him by a couple feet. Bucky may have been raised in the rings, but he knew his manners—when he wanted to show them. The thought of running crossed his mind, but he had nowhere to go, and if he were caught, he’d _definitely_ be put down. 

Steve led him down the darkening streets to a rundown building, the lower floor of which housed a seedy-looking diner. Bucky followed Steve around into the alley, and waited while Steve opened a door with a key from his pocket. Steve swung the door open and started up the narrow flight of stairs behind it, and Bucky continued to follow, hunching his shoulders slightly to fit up the slim corridor. 

They turned right at the top, and Steve unlocked another door, threw it open wide, and stepped back. “Home sweet home,” he said. 

Bucky waited for a moment, before realizing Steve intended for Bucky to walk inside first. He stepped into the tiny apartment. The place was definitely small, only one room, but it was clean, and it smelled good, the fresh laundry and cut flowers in the window lending the room a pleasant scent. Bucky could still smell the warehouse, however, the stench lingering in his nose and the back of his throat. He realized belatedly that the smell was coming from himself. He seriously needed a shower. 

Steve was stepping in after him and shutting the door. Bucky turned around, and suddenly they were standing face to face. Steve stared up at him, a hint of fear in his blue eyes. Bucky held his gaze this time, took an experimental step towards him, and Steve held his ground, although his eyes widened a little. 

Steve was obviously scared of him, and after how Bucky had acted in the warehouse, he couldn’t exactly blame him. Hell, Bucky had been _trying_ to scare him, trying to get Steve to leave him alone. But Steve had proven tougher than he looked. 

Bucky bit his lip, considering. He wasn’t sure how to communicate that he didn’t intend to hurt Steve, that he intended to behave himself, at least for now. Not for the first time, he wished he could speak, but every time he tried to talk, the words got caught in his throat, like he had no air. Bucky held up his hands, palms out, trying to convey that he meant no harm. Steve flinched. 

Bucky sighed heavily. As much as he hated doing it, he might as well learn to like it if he wanted to live. He took a small step backwards, and dropped painfully to his knees. 

“Oh,” Steve said, a small gasp escaping him. “Why don’t you...why don’t you sit down, big guy?” He walked to a table near the kitchen and pulled out a chair.

Bucky rose, more than a little surprised, and obliged, sitting down and leaning forward with his elbows on the table to avoid touching his raw back against the chair.

Steve hovered uncertainly for a moment. They eyed each other. Bucky was still waiting to see what sort of dynamic they would have. Every master was different. Apparently with this one, sitting in chairs was fine and dandy. Eye contact seemed to be fine, too. 

But who knew what would set Steve off. Sure, Steve was small, but it wasn’t hard to hurt somebody who didn’t fight back. Bucky wondered what he would do, when Steve inevitably decided to punish him. 

Part of him wanted to give this new lease on life a chance. And the rest of him was through sitting there and taking it, done doing what he was told. Fighting back would end badly, though. Bucky knew from experience. 

Steve cleared his throat, startling Bucky out of his rapidly darkening thoughts. 

“Um, thirsty?” Steve asked, pulling a mug down from his cupboard and raising his eyebrows. 

Bucky nodded. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had water. Before the fight, probably, so at least a day and a half ago. 

Steve filled the mug from the tap, and set it down in front of Bucky, before stepping back again. He was still wary, it seemed. Bucky wondered how long it would take for the fear to ebb, for the power trip to begin. Steve seemed like a fairly decent guy, but owning another person had a way of changing people. Bucky had seen it firsthand. 

For now, Bucky simply drank the water out of the chipped porcelain mug, staring around the room. The only other furniture besides the table and chairs was a small twin-sized bed in the corner, beside a disorganized pile of boxes that seemed to have been packed in a hurry, clothes and papers spilling out of them. Steve was clearly on the run from someone, Bucky gathered. He wished he could ask who, and why, but as always, his voice failed him. 

Bucky drained the mug empty and set it down. He was still thirsty. He wondered what Steve would do if he got up and filled it again. There was one way to find out, he supposed, rising from his seat. 

Steve flinched, but again, he stood his ground, watching Bucky, every muscle tense. 

Bucky walked slowly to the sink, turned on the tap, and filled the mug. He turned back to lean against the counter and drink it, keeping solid eye contact with Steve. 

Steve didn’t look angry, if anything, he’d relaxed somewhat, his posture less stiff. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked, walking towards the kitchen. “All I have is bread right now, but…” Steve opened his cupboards, pulling down a loaf of sourdough bread and grabbing a knife out of the drawer. He cut off two thick slices and handed one to Bucky. 

Bucky accepted it, and when he’d finished, Steve handed him another. 

“Sorry all I have is bread,” Steve said. “You seem more like a meat and potatoes guy...I get paid tomorrow, so I’ll buy some groceries.” 

Bucky shrugged. Although most of his masters had kept him well fed, so he could fight, that didn’t mean the food had necessarily been _good._ He’d be happy with anything, and day-old bread was already nicer than what he usually ate. He finished the second slice all too quickly, and eyed Steve, wondering if there was a possibility of getting a third. 

Steve noticed, apparently, because he cut another slice off the loaf and handed it over. “Here you go, big guy.” 

Bucky ate this one just as quickly, finally starting to feel full. Steve stretched with a wince. His gaze slid over to Bucky, looking him up and down. Bucky tensed. 

“You want to take a bath?” Steve suggested softly, sounding almost as if he were worried about offending Bucky. 

Bucky nodded enthusiastically. He desperately wanted a bath, he felt disgusting. Well, more disgusting than he usually did, anyway. 

Steve walked to the bathroom, and Bucky trailed behind him, hanging back in the doorway and watching Steve run a bath. He was fairly sure Steve was using hot water. He stepped forward carefully, not wanting to crowd Steve too much in the tiny bathroom, and dipped his hand into the water. It was _warm._ Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a hot bath, rather than a cold shower. He wet his cracked lips, looking up at Steve and wishing he could find the words to thank him. As it always happened, though, Bucky’s words got caught in his throat, his mouth refusing to make a sound. He could feel himself flushing, heart racing. He scrubbed a hand over his face, frustrated with himself. 

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, apparently noticing Bucky’s internal struggle. 

Bucky just shook his head, staring at the cracked bathroom tiles. 

“Is it too hot? Too cold?” 

Bucky shook his head again. No, it was _perfect,_ and that was just the problem. Steve was being so damn kind to him, at the moment, and Bucky’s useless brain refused to even form the words ‘thank you.’ 

“Okay.” Steve sighed softly. “Well, I’ll give you some privacy then.” 

Bucky wondered if that was a sigh of irritation. Not talking was something that had gotten him beaten before, when masters became frustrated with his apparent refusal to speak. Usually they ended up deciding he was stupid. 

But Steve provided no clues as to how he felt about Bucky’s silence, simply stepping out of the room and shutting the door behind him. 

Bucky undressed and eased his sore frame into the warm water. It stung on his back, but once he got used to it, it was blissful. He leaned his head back against the cold porcelain of the tub, once again thankful the water wasn’t the same temperature. Water, food, and a hot bath. Life with Steve wasn’t too horrible, at least so far. 

Only time would tell if that continued. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, it was so hard to find Bucky's voice in this AU but I feel like I finally got it how i want it. Hopefully you enjoyed!  
> More to come! Please leave me a comment, they mean the world, <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So so sorry for the wait on this one, I had to take a break from writing for school. I haven't abandoned this fic (or any of my fics) I just had to stop for a while to focus on school. Sorry!!

The bath may have been nice, but it eventually cooled, and Bucky reluctantly stepped out and drained it. He caught his own eyes in the mirror and stood for a moment, staring at himself. 

He almost looked worse now that he was clean, the cuts and bruises standing out starkly against his pale skin. He leaned against the sink, sighing heavily and pressing his fingers against one of the heavy purple stains on his jawline. Dominik had done a real number on him. And so had Lawrence and his men, once they’d gotten him tranquilized. Bucky turned around, glancing over his shoulder to eye his back. Now that the dirt and grime had washed away, he could see just how bad it really was, the marks red and swollen in the mirror. No wonder it hurt to move. 

Bucky let out a long, exhausted breath and turned around to squeeze water out of his overgrown hair into the sink. He was still dripping wet. He regarded the towel for a moment, but he was still bleeding a little, and he didn’t want to risk staining it. He didn’t want to risk doing anything that would piss Steve off. 

Speaking of, Steve was probably already annoyed with how long Bucky was taking in the bathroom. He looked himself over one more time, and then forced himself to open the door. 

Steve startled, turning around. He’d been writing or drawing, it seemed, his skinny fingers wrapped around a pencil. 

Steve flushed and looked away. “You can, uh, put a towel on, you know.” 

Bucky realized Steve was reacting to the fact that he was naked. Oh. Bucky didn’t think much of it at this point, privacy wasn’t exactly something slaves were afforded. He reached out for the towel and wrapped it around his waist. Steve had as good as ordered him to; if he got angry at Bucky for getting blood on it, that was on him. 

Steve looked back at him, his eyes scanning Bucky’s injuries, it seemed. He winced. “Anything...broken?” 

Bucky shook his head, folding his arms across his chest self-consciously. He hoped Steve didn’t regret buying him, given how hurt he was. _I heal fast_ , he wished he could promise. _I’ve had practice._ As usual, he said nothing, staring back down at the floor and waiting for some sort of order. 

“Here. Why don’t you sit down?” Steve stood and turned the chair around backwards. He shut his notebook and tossed it onto the bed with the pencil he’d been using. Bucky’s eyes followed it, wishing he’d been able to get a peek at what was inside. Nevermind that now, he’d been given an order—again framed as some sort of request or invitation, Steve had a habit of doing that, he noticed—and he ought to follow it. 

He sat down, arms crossed over the back of the chair, and waited, his eyes following Steve around the room. Steve was digging through his stack of boxes, retrieving a battered first aid kit. 

He set it on the table, and then rolled up his sleeves, exposing more bruises up his arms. “Can I...I mean, uh, you don’t mind if I patch you up, do you?” 

Bucky wasn’t sure if he should nod or shake his head in response to that, so he just shrugged. He didn’t mind, exactly. He was mostly just surprised Steve even wanted to bother. 

“Guess I’ll take that as a yes.” Steve opened the kit and started digging around in it, pulling out gauze and tape. Was that irritation, in Steve’s voice? Bucky cursed himself, again. Steve had not only saved his life, he’d been kind, so far. If Bucky’s inability to talk messed this up, he didn’t know how he could forgive himself. 

But Steve didn’t mention it, just stepped around behind Bucky. There was a long moment of silence, then he heard Steve swear quietly under his breath. 

“Who the hell did this to you?” Steve rested his fingers on Bucky’s shoulder, in one of the few places the skin was unbroken. Bucky shivered, resisting the urge to pull away. He wasn’t used to being touched, not gently anyway. 

Steve’s fingers fell away. “It looks fresh...it wasn’t Lawrence, was it?” 

Bucky shook his head. 

“Your last owner?” 

Bucky nodded. A parting gift, before selling him off. Bucky had cost Dominik a lot of money in that last fight. And he’d wanted to make Bucky pay for it. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” There was a heavy emotion in Steve’s voice that Bucky couldn’t place. 

Bucky just shrugged again in response. It wasn’t anything Bucky wasn’t used to, although it was a bit worse than he usually got. 

“Well, I’ll do my best to patch you up. I have some practice, on myself, so hopefully I don’t do too bad of a job. I wish I could take you to a doctor or something, but...well, you already know I’m broke.” 

A doctor? Bucky found that idea a little surprising. Apparently Steve was very concerned about getting him well again. He wished he could tell Steve not to worry, that he could fight like this. He’d been doing it for years. 

Steve wet a rag with what looked like antiseptic, and then paused. “This is gonna sting a little, I’m sorry.” 

Bucky eventually realized Steve was waiting for a response, and offered him another shrug. It wasn’t like Steve needed his permission, anyway. And he’d rather a little antiseptic sting than infected wounds—that had happened before, and it hadn’t been fun. 

Steve began to gently dab at the cuts on Bucky’s back with the rag, and while it hurt a little, it made Bucky more uncomfortable than anything else. He wasn’t used to this much attention. He was used to being treated more or less as disposable. 

Eventually, Steve reached back into the first aid kit, digging around and pulling out a tube of something. He turned it around to read it. “Supposed to help wounds heal...I don’t know how much it’ll help, yours are pretty bad, but it’s worth a shot, I suppose.” 

Bucky waited patiently while Steve spread whatever the hell that was onto the cuts on his back with the same gentle touch he’d used before. To his surprise, it took some of his pain away. When he was through, Steve began to carefully wrap Bucky’s back in gauze bandages. Bucky could feel himself relaxing into the touch, despite himself. Steve was so damn gentle. And it was...almost nice, strange as it was, having someone show so much concern. It made something inside Bucky’s chest ache. He found himself wishing this could continue, this happy bubble of being owned by someone kind. But nobody was this kind, he reminded himself. Steve was probably just worried about whether or not Bucky would be well enough to fight, and he was simply unfamiliar with just how durable Bucky was. 

Steve’s careful fingers wrapped gauze around the last of Bucky’s injuries, and then he rested his fingers ever so lightly on Bucky’s shoulder again. Bucky surprised himself by feeling disappointed when Steve dropped his hand. 

Steve stepped back around to lean against the table, wiping his hands on a rag. “Feel any better?” he asked tentatively. 

Bucky nodded. He had to admit, he _did_ feel a bit better. He wished, yet again, that he could find the voice to say thank you. As always, his mouth refused to form the words. 

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “Gotta buy you a shirt, big guy. Doubt anything I have would fit.” 

Steve’s own shirt was too big for him, hanging boxily off his small frame, but it would still be too small for Bucky. 

“Wish I knew your name…” Steve bit his lip. “You can’t write it, can you?” 

Bucky looked down at the battered tabletop, struggling to remember how he’d written his name in the few days of school he’d ever been to as a child. 

Steve walked over to the bed and retrieved his notebook, opening it to a blank page. He set the pencil down beside it, staring down at Bucky. 

Bucky looked down at the blank page. He remembered the first letter, at least. He picked up the pencil, and did his best to shakily recreate it on the page. B. 

Steve’s face had brightened. “You can write?” 

Bucky shook his head. He wasn’t even sure he could manage the rest of his name. 

Steve’s shoulders slumped a little, but he didn’t look angry. “Well, it starts with B, that’s something. Can you remember any more of the letters?” 

When Bucky hesitated, Steve slid the notebook over towards himself and plucked the pencil from Bucky’s fingers. He wrote out what Bucky guessed was the alphabet at the top of the page. He spun the notebook back around, set the pencil on top of it, and pushed it towards Bucky. “Recognize any of them?” he asked. 

Bucky knew one of them, the one with the looping tail. It went at the end of his name. He recreated it a few spaces away from the B. 

“Starts with B, ends with Y. Alright.” Steve sunk his teeth into his lower lip again, staring down at the page. Bucky’s eyes caught on the rosy pink of Steve’s lips, on the bright blue of his eyes. Steve wasn’t just nice, at least so far, he was also distractingly gorgeous. Bucky looked away. Catching feelings wasn’t going to make this situation any less complicated. 

“Billy?” Steve guessed, startling Bucky out of his reverie. 

Bucky shook his head. 

“Bobby? Um, Berney?” 

Bucky shook his head again. He had to admit, Bucky was kind of a weird name. He stared at the letters again, willing his brain to remember. 

“There’s probably a vowel next…” Steve said. He took the pencil again and wrote a string of five letters below the rest. A, E, I, O, U. 

Bucky stared at them intently, running a hand through his still-wet hair in frustration. He would love to be called by his name, rather than slave, or boy, or some of the more unsavory things he’d been called, and it seemed like Steve was willing to. But try as he might, he just couldn’t remember. 

Steve didn’t give up easy though, it seemed. He pointed to each other the letters in turn, making their sounds aloud. When he got to the last, Bucky looked up. He wasn’t sure if that was right, but it _sounded_ right. He wrote it next to the B. 

He was rewarded with a beaming smile from Steve, who seemed overjoyed with their progress. “B, U, something Y. Okay.” He squinted at the paper, apparently putting letters into the blank space in his head. “Um, Bubby? Bu-see...Bu-key..” 

Bucky nodded. 

“B-Bucky? Is that it?” 

Bucky nodded even more enthusiastically. 

Steve filled in the rest of the letters, staring down at it with a smile. “Well, I know your name now at least. Maybe...maybe I can teach you to read and write. If...if you wanted.” 

Bucky’s face fell. He’d never been very good at school. The few times he’d been able to go, rather than working, his teachers had mostly just gotten frustrated with him. If Steve tried to teach him to read, he’d undoubtedly just get frustrated too.

Steve must have noticed Bucky’s reluctance. “It’s okay, we don’t have to. I’m probably getting ahead of myself, I’m not trying to ask too much, I just...I just wish we could communicate.” 

Bucky wanted that too, but he was pretty sure he was too dumb to ever learn to write properly. 

“I just...have so many questions.” 

That was fair. Bucky had questions too, but while Steve could talk, Bucky had no way of asking. He could ask one, at least. He reached out, resting his hand carefully on one of the bruises on Steve’s wrists. He looked up at Steve, raised his eyebrows. 

Steve pulled away. “I know you must have questions too...and I know I owe you an explanation, it’s just…” Steve dropped his face into his hands. “Let’s just say,” he muttered through his fingers, “I got on someone’s bad side. And he’s big. And mean. I don’t scare easy, but he…” Steve’s hands fell away from his face, and he stared down at the floor, a defeated slump to his shoulders. “He’s got a way of taking the fight right out of me.” 

Bucky knew what that felt like. He’d had a master like that in the past. Sokolov. That had been his name. He’d had a way of making Bucky feel like a scared kid, making him feel nothing but worthlessness and fear. He reached out, intending to rest his fingers on Steve’s arm again. Steve flinched away from his outstretched hand, folding his arms. 

“Sorry, I just...don’t like being touched.” 

Bucky folded his hands again. He could understand that. He wasn’t usually too fond of it himself, except when Steve touched him, it was somehow different. 

Steve stifled a yawn with the back of his hand. “I know it’s still pretty early, but I gotta get back to the docks by five, so I usually turn in around now.” 

Bucky nodded. He was dead tired. He hadn’t managed to get more than a few moments of sleep in that cage. Steve walked towards the bed, and Bucky stood and followed him. 

Steve pulled the covers back, and then, instead of getting into it, motioned for Bucky to do so. 

Bucky stared back at him in confusion. Did Steve want them to share it? There wasn’t nearly enough room. He pointed to himself, and then the floor. 

“I’m not gonna make you sleep on the floor, Bucky. You’re hurt.” 

Steve was trying to give him the bed? He shook his head, motioning to himself and the floor again, and then pointing at Steve, and then the bed. 

Steve clearly understood his meaning, but instead of listening, he folded his arms and lifted his chin. “I’m taking the floor tonight, big guy. Ain’t nothing you can do about it.” And with that, he laid down on the wooden floor. Like he wasn’t hurt too. 

Bucky wasn’t having it. Steve had been kind, far kinder than Bucky could ever have imagined, and he was _not_ going to displace Steve from his own bed. He folded his arms, staring down at Steve. He pointed, more forcefully this time, at Steve, and then motioned at the bed. 

Steve folded his arms behind his head with a poorly-hidden grimace of pain. “If you think you can boss me around, you’ve got a surprise coming.” He shut his eyes.

Bucky let out a growl of frustration and laid down on the floor beside him. If Steve refused to sleep on the bed, Bucky wasn’t going to, either. 

Steve opened one eye. “Stubborn, aren’t you?” 

Bucky gave him a glare. 

“Guess we’re both sleeping on the floor then,” was Steve’s response, before rolling over onto his side, away from Bucky. 

Bucky sighed heavily, rolling onto his stomach and laying his head on his folded arms. He was used to the floor, anyway. And maybe if Steve got uncomfortable in the middle of the night, he’d move to the bed. Maybe. From what Bucky had seen so far, Steve was far too stubborn for that. He felt a hint of a smile tugging at his mouth, and suppressed it. _Everyone hurts you eventually._ While he somehow hadn’t managed to make Steve angry yet, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when. And whatever Steve decided to do, it was going to hurt a hell of a lot more if Bucky were fond of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this one's a little lackluster, I'm still getting back into writing, and it takes practice. Hopefully you still enjoyed and the next one will be better. Please leave me a comment, I read every one and they absolutely make my day. Just please be nice, lol. Thanks so much for reading!!


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